


Tears For Fears

by yowzatozier (orphan_account)



Series: The Losers' Prompts Playlist [1]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: (kinda), Angst, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Hurt No Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Nightmares, Pennywise (IT) is His Own Warning, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, entirely based on that one scene in the 2015 scenario, he doesn't live that well, he's the devil, the losers are around fourteen, there's no happiness in this, you know which one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 22:10:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13726995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/yowzatozier
Summary: "Don't touch the other boys, Richie." It said, "They'll know your secret."orRichie goes on a walk, it's a very unhappy walk.





	Tears For Fears

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I wrote this instead of sleeping and only because I was in full Queer Panic™.  
> I hope this will somehow appeal to you all. Also, I don't speak nor write English on regular basis, so if you see some mistakes, let me know!  
> Alright, I'm done... Enjoy!

_“Don’t touch the other boys.” It said, “They’ll know your secret.”_

The clown’s ugly laugh and his friends’ terrified eyes haunted Richie’s nights. Sometimes, he woke up covered in cold sweat, other times, he wakes up screaming. Tonight was one of those times, Richie woke in a loud, gut-wrenching sob that would have made any parent run to their child’s room in a hurry.

But not Richie’s parents, never Richie’s parents.

Richie stood up, leaving behind the sweat ridden blankets as he sprayed water on his face, got dressed and left his room through the window. He could have left by the front door, his mom probably wouldn't have noticed, but he likes to believe that she might have cared, might have stopped him.

Richie liked to keep his dreams alive.

It was still dark outside, the air was brisk on his heated skin, making him shiver, but he found comfort in the cold weather. He felt safety in knowing that the wind hitting his cheeks was frosty and crisp, not muggy like a Summer day spent in the sewers.

_It felt nothing like sick, warm water, boiling with blood, piss and shit. Nothing like the warm Summer of 1989, the warm sewers and the clown’s warm breath on the back of Richie’s neck.  Everything was so fucking warm._

Richie trembled, but it had nothing to do with the breeze. He made his way through Derry on autopilots, walking to the closed Arcade and its blinking neon lights with nothing in mind. He passed a bar, a seemingly boring bar named “The Falcon”, but as he came closer he discern colors and movement, like people dancing under globes of light. They were all men, pressed against each other, dressed in leather and jeans, one man had a headband, another had a thick mustache and Richie thought briefly that he looked like Freddie Mercury. 

He didn't think too much of it at first, he only observed from afar with curiosity, up until the Mercury look alike caressed the naked arm of his dance partner and Richie suddenly couldn't breathe. His face became hot, his hands started trembling and, like a coward, he ran as fast as he could away from the bar and its terrible truth. 

_"Don't touch the other boys, don't touch the other boys, don't touch ther other boys. Richie, don't touch the other boys, don't touch them, touch them, the boys, boys, boys. Don't touch them."_

Eddie.

Eddie and his light brown hair, Eddie and his stupid red shorts, Eddie's voice, Eddie's smile. Eddie and his comebacks, Eddie and his pills, Eddie and his cast, Eddie and his long lashes.

Eddie's room.

That was where his feet took him, he ran through Derry only to end up here, by Eddie Kaspbrak's window. Isn't that ironic? Richie tried to not let it sink, to see it as a quest for comfort from a close friend, as something casual. He climbed the tree that would take him to Eddie and let himself fall on the reclined roof. He approached the room, silent as the night became dawn. He was ready to knock on the window before apologising profusely to a sleepy Eddie when he caught a glimpse of his friend.

Eddie was wrapped in a blue, fluffy and patterned blanket that covered him from the tip of his toes to his chin, he was drooling and his tongue was sticking out, Richie could only imagine the snores that echoed in the room as his friends took deep inspirations.

He looked at peace, relaxed, profoundly asleep, not besieged by memories of death and sorrow in the form of a clown.

_"Don't touch the other boys, Richie. You know that. You can look, look at Mike, at Bill, at Ben and Stan. At Eddie, you can look at Eddie, but you can never touch."_

Richie thought of his friend, of Mike and his kind smile, of Stan and the knowing looks they would share, of Ben and his poems, of Bill and his overly optimistic pep talks. He thought of Bev too, Beverly who was gentle, beautiful and funny, but who could fight and rage on. Sweet but feisty Beverly who was everything Bill and Ben dreamed of.

Beverly who was, in Richie's mind, not nearly as beautiful as his Eddie Spaghetti. 

He took a last look at the sleeping form of his friend, he thought of Eddie's surprised and confused eyes if he knocked on the window, of what waking him up would mean for the both of them if Edddie shared his secret, of what their world would become. He thought of pain not caused by a dancing clown, of broken bones with no casts to fix them and of shattered glasses on dark alleys behind colorful bars.

In the end, Richie never knocked on that damn window.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my stupid Tumblr, come say hello and give me prompts! : https://trasmouthtozier.tumblr.com/


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